Avery:
The silence hit first.
It wasn’t just the kind of silence you get when someone leaves the room. It was hollow. Thick. The kind that echoes around your ribs and presses into your lungs until even breathing feels like a betrayal. The kind that makes the air feel colder even though the temperature hasn’t changed.
Cruz was gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up to my chest, wearing one of his shirts again—because I was a glutton for punishment, apparently. I buried my face in the fabric, hoping it still carried his scent. That musky, dark mix of sweat, smoke, and something deeper—him.
It barely lingered.
I felt like a shell. Raw. Hollowed out from the inside. My thighs ached. My skin still tingled with the bruises he’d left behind. My throat was sore, my lips swollen,
